Christmas at Fox Ridge

13. Lucas

Chapter thirteen

Lucas

S nagging our bourbon glasses and a tin of cookies I bought from the bakery, I traipse into the living room and stop to toss a couple pieces of wood into the stove before sitting next to her. She’s holding the cat like a human infant, tree lights flickering over them in a random pattern. Damn, if only I was an artist. She looks like a fucking painting.

Half-Pint stretches her front legs, eyes pleading with me not to kick her out of her comfortable spot.

“Look as cute as you want. I’m still convinced you’re evil.” I move to boop the cat’s nose, and she swats at me. “Case in point.”

“Oh, shush.” Eira’s fingers rap over my forearm, but she tilts until her head’s resting on my chest. I inhale her sweet scent, looking over at the first Christmas tree I’ve had in this house.

When I saw a photo of the rundown farmhouse in a small town I’d never stepped foot in, I knew in my bones it was meant to be mine. Not a reservation or second thought. It had been listed the same day as my accident two years prior.

My head screamed coincidence; my heart whispered fate.

And that same murmuring filled my chest and exploded through the synapses in my brain when, six months ago, Eira and I spent a night laughing, sharing secrets, and filling the air between us with the buzz of sexual tension. When I lay awake in bed that night, I could’ve stayed in that moment forever.

My finger traced her hairline, brushing a soft lock of dark hair away from her temple. I drew the shell of her ear, and the curve of her creamy cheek, swallowing hard when I switched to running the back of my knuckles over her face.

Her dark eyelashes fluttered, making my heart race and hand still. No doubt it would be awkward if she caught me delicately touching her as she slept, doing my best to soak in every second with her.

When her breathing steadied, I smoothed my hardened palm over her hair. And I risked a kiss, because it was impossible not to with that stunning woman curled up in my arms.

The moment my lips touched her forehead, she mumbled something that sounded a lot like my name, nuzzling in even closer.

Could’ve been my brain playing tricks on me. Honestly? Probably was. But even the tiniest chance that she was dreaming about me was enough to fill my chest with the wrenching pain of regret.

Just one night. That’s all she wanted, and all I thought I could offer. But fuck would I have loved that one night to last a lifetime.

Eira breaks the silence with a sweet kiss on the back of my hand. “Whatcha thinking about?”

My eyebrows furrow while I try to come up with something that won’t put her in a weird place when we both know she has to go home in a couple days. “What made you decide to illustrate?”

She glances over at me with a bourbon-glazed smile. “I don’t even think I have an answer, because I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t drawing. But I didn’t know how to make money at it, so it stayed a hobby until a little over a year ago when my friend asked me to draw a book cover design for her. It’s been snowballing since then. I’m so tired of being treated like crap at my corporate job—the dream is to have enough steady commission work to quit one day.”

“So, you’re telling me that you’ll draw me naked if I pay you to?” My drink trickles down my throat, and I watch her intently over the rim of my glass. There’s a new rouging of her cheeks and chest—based on my experience, it continues under her clothes.

“Well… in that case, it’s a commission. And I can’t turn down a commission.”

“Great. How much?”

The wallet tucked into my coat pocket by the front door is probably sobbing. The thought of spending money on anything that isn’t a necessity sends my stomach roiling, especially after I blew over a hundred dollars on random food and supplies to give her the perfect Christmas. Not to mention, I texted the therapeutic riding facility’s stable manager after convincing Eira to come with me yesterday, to let her know I could only shoe half the number of horses we’d agreed upon. I’ll get to them next week, working a couple extra-long days to make up the lost wages.

But even if I can’t recoup the money I lost yesterday, I don’t care. It’s worth it. I’d bet the farm on her.

“Considering you bought all these incredible desserts”—she flourishes a Nanaimo bar through the air—“and you’re giving me a warm bed to sleep in, I think I can cut you a deal.”

Tossing back two ounces of bourbon, I wish I’d grabbed something higher proof. I know all of this was my idea, but that doesn’t mean I’m immune to nervous jitters.

The bedside lamp flickers slightly before fully illuminating the small space, and Eira belly flops onto the bed with a warm laugh. Markers and notepad spread across the deep green comforter, she smiles up at me.

“Socks.”

“Who starts with socks?” I squint at her.

“Who ends with socks?” She rests her chin in her hands, feet kicking behind her. “Anyway, who’s in charge here?”

Rolling my eyes, I bend and pull off my socks, then chuck them in the hamper next to my dresser.

Eira whistles a catcall. “Damn, boy.”

Laughing, I say, “If you have a foot fetish, I am not your man.”

She shifts a little, picking up a pencil and drawing something near the top of the page that I can’t quite make out. It better be my head and not the start of a giant foot picture.

“Not a foot girl, but I was a big fan of the forearm flex when you gave the left sock an extra firm tug. Speaking of which, lose the shirt,” she says without looking up from the graceful glide of pencil on paper.

The hem catches on my fingers, and I tug upward slowly, waiting for the moment her eyes flutter to look at me through her thick lashes. I give her a wink before pulling the fabric overhead.

A heavy rise and fall of her chest makes my cock pulse under my jeans. She studies my bare upper body in the shallow light, crinkling her nose as she slowly drags pencil over paper. The only sounds in the room are my heartbeat and the gentle scratch of lead in her notebook.

“Pants,” she says the word with the exasperation of somebody running a marathon.

“Shouldn’t belt be its own category?” I grip the buckle, staring her down.

The snap as I unbuckle it makes her bite down on her lower lip. The leather glides through the loops on my jeans. Eira’s eyes widen, pupils blown out with lust, as I loop it between my hands and tug until the leather slaps together. The sound reverberates through the room, and even I have goosebumps on the back of my neck. Then I let the entire thing fall to the wooden floor with a resounding thunk.

Her gaze flits to the belt then back to me. “You were right. That definitely deserves to be its own category.”

“Now pants?” I can’t help the love-drunk smile, or the cadence of my heartbeat, slamming into every rib and spreading out through my limbs. I want to drop the pants and go to her, tell her to forget about the drawing idea, and feel the warmth of her words on my skin.

With a heady tone, she says, “Now pants.”

Drawing in a long breath then releasing it slowly, I let the denim slide down my legs. The last time I felt self-conscious was as a middle schooler in the locker room after gym class. A woman seeing me naked hasn’t affected me. But something about this—the slow strip, the scratchy sound of Eira drawing in a frenzy, the warm-toned light bulb, and the slight nip in the air—is making my lungs constrict painfully.

God. I need a way to make me look hot and cool for her.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean against the dresser.

But not like I’m trying too hard.

Uncrossing my arms, I lick my lips and watch her draw. She hasn’t even looked up at me since I lost the pants, and her hand’s moving around the paper in a frenzy.

“Boxers.”

The snap of elastic under my fingers makes her head careen upward, and I’m met with hungry eyes and an inspired twitch at the corner of her mouth. The pencil eraser taps on the notepad, a metronome in the otherwise silent room.

I clear my throat, stopping with my fingers pinching the waistband. “I feel like we should be playing some Ginuwine.”

“Hrm. Don’t move a muscle.”

Tucking the pencil between her teeth, Eira lifts to her hands and knees. And in a move that makes my breath catch in my throat, she crawls across the bed.

If she’s not doing that naked later tonight, I might just tear her clothes from her body and make her. She can be bossy? Well, so can I.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, she looks over at me with a sly smile, fingers tapping on her phone screen.

“Better?” With a wink, Eira slowly increases the volume, then sinks back into the small indent her body created in the bedding.

“I take back what I said. Now this just feels slutty.”

With a laugh that slides over my body like silky lotion, she turns off the song. “All right, no more lollygagging. Boxers. Off.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They slip down to join the jeans pooled around my ankles. With a quick side step, I’m fully exposed, and my hands naturally fall in front of my dick. Or they try to, but it’s rock hard and bobbing in front of me, every slow lick of Eira’s lips making it twitch.

And she’s just staring.

I can’t tell if she’s assessing me or trying to commit it all to memory. The glances at her paper become less frequent, and the slow rake of her eyes over my body take up most of her time.

“This is gonna take a while—might be better for you if you sit.” She points her nose toward the armchair in the corner.

Eira catcalls me again the instant I turn to follow her direction.

“You were right. Your ass is better out of pants,” she says when I give her a look. “And your cock is really pretty. Has anybody told you that before?”

Fuck . That smile of hers has my anxieties collapsing like a house of cards.

“No,” I say through a laugh, sinking into the thick cushion. “Nobody has ever complimented my dick before.”

“Well, good. I’m glad I’m the first.”

For an indeterminate amount of time, she draws quietly and I sit naked, cock at full attention, watching her work. Coming closer and closer to leaping from this chair with every tiny poke of her tongue, every slow sip of bourbon she takes while she considers something, and every fleeting glance my way. My nails sink into the armrests, willing my body to follow her rules and stay still.

I need something to break the tension

It’s both the most frustrating and seductive thing I’ve ever experienced.

“Done,” she says with a gasp, as if the drawing comes as a surprise to her. “ Damn. ”

“That bad, huh?” I chuckle. “Thinking you should stick to fictional character porn, or what?”

“Thinking about how all the art I made after our night at the hotel really proves how shit my memory is.”

I choke on my own spit for a moment, and she stalks toward me with our shared glass of bourbon. She lets me take a sip to ease the tickle in my throat, then takes a slow gulp herself.

She’s been thinking about me that much?

“When do I get to see all this art of yours?”

“The others are for me, but I’ll let you see this one.” With a smirk, she holds up tonight’s masterpiece. And it really is a fucking masterpiece. How she was able to sketch every detail, right down to the small birthmark on my thigh, is beyond me.

“Holy shit.” I squint to get a better look. “How the hell aren’t you a famous artist already?”

A sad sigh slips from between kissable lips. “That’s the dream. Well, not fame, necessarily. But I’d love to be able to say I’m a full-time artist.”

“You will definitely do that someday soon.” I shake my head in disbelief. “And you just sketched that in… half an hour, or so? Damn. ”

Tucking a piece of short, dark hair behind her ear, she scrunches her nose. “Thank you.”

“So, what did you do with all the pictures you drew of me?”

“Built a shrine, obviously.”

“Good. Bet that deters any man who comes into your apartment.”

Just the thought of that has a low growl threatening to rumble in my chest. Not that I own her. But fuck, would I like to.

“Only fictional men allowed in my apartment. No, I just keep them inside my bedside table…” Her sentence trails off, and I’m desperate to know what else is on her mind.

“And? Sounded like you had something to add. What do you do with the pictures, Eira? Do you look at them?” My hand falls to my cock instinctively, and I give it one slow tug.

“Yes.”

“Do you look at them with a purpose, or do you just check to make sure nobody has stolen them?”

“It depends.” She looks down at the drawing held tight in her hands. “It uh, it depends…on what I feel like.”

Say. It.

Admit that I haven’t been the only one feeling this sense of yearning for months.

“Sometimes it can be a little more… useful to help me get in the mood . But after I draw them… ”

“What then?” My words are strained with wanton desperation.

Her cheeks are ruddy, eyes glimmering. “Then I pretend it’s you touching me. It’s you making me come.”

“Show me.” Only it comes out so much weaker—groveling and pathetic—than it sounded in my head.

The jump of my cock grabs her startled attention when she takes a step toward me.

“Should I?” she asks hesitantly.

“God, yes.”

A huff of pleased air blows from her nose, and she rocks on her heels, taking a few small steps back. Her shirt slips overhead in one smooth motion, and I’m thankful we stopped the music, because I can hear the rasp in every shallow breath she takes.

“Shirt,” she says, letting it fall from her fingertips.

Hooking a thumb under the button, she pops open her pants and shimmies then down her legs. “Pants.”

“Come here. I take the panties off,” I growl.

My hands need her hips, and they have no trouble slipping into the small dips in her curves to position her between my legs.

Her mouth opens, nothing but a breathless moan coming out as my fingers tease her panties aside and slide inside her. Nothing but seeing me naked— drawing me naked— has her slick and needy. Ready to put this creative anatomy lesson to good use.

“I bet you didn’t know I’m a bit of a painter myself, baby.”

She gulps, eyebrows narrowing, then relaxing as my fingers drive deeper. “Oh?”

I withdraw from her pussy, bringing my drenched fingers to trace her pout, and her knees quiver. “I plan on painting this gorgeous body with my cum repeatedly tonight. Fuck, you’ll look so good like that.”

Her tongue moves over her glistening lips in one languid stroke.

“But first I need to see what you do to yourself when you imagine me.”

A gentle push on her hips has her stumbling back toward the bed, her panties slowly falling down her legs with every step. Her ass hasn’t even hit the comforter before she’s running a finger up her slit.

“That’s it, baby.”

Her eyes don’t leave mine until I grab hold of my dick, and the lust-filled gaze turns intimidating. “ No. I had to stare at your body for half an hour without touching myself, you can watch.”

“I wasn’t fucking my hand while you watched, though,” I argue. Not that there’s any sense in arguing. I’m nothing but pathetic when it comes to her.

I lean back, grabbing hold of the armrests with a grip that implies I’m about to be blasted off into outer space. Honestly? I might be.

Eira glides her fingers inside with a guttural moan that raises the hair at the back of my neck. The throb of desire between my legs has me shifting in place, fighting the urge to help it along.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I mutter as electricity fizzes through my balls.

Finding her clit, she tosses her head back and shakes out her hair while her free hand wraps around a blanket edge. My chest heaves. Head floating through a haze as all the blood in my body races to my groin.

Every whimper ruins me.

My cock’s so hard it’s painful, and I only grip the chair tighter, sinking deeper into the cushion. Letting my dick cut through the crisp air, thick strands of precum creating a webbing between the head and my bare stomach.

My name leaves her mouth in a wail, like she’s all alone in her apartment in the city, turned on and lost in her imagination after drawing my naked body. It does me in.

Without even touching my dick. Without looking at it. Despite her being halfway across the room. Despite her fingers being lost in her pussy, when it should be mine.

I come fucking undone .

Balls tight and hot, I hold my breath and focus on Eira’s perfectly pink, soaking wet pussy. The air’s thick with her scent, and my view of her slowly rubbing her clit becomes dotted as an orgasm builds.

My cock jolts with a mind of its own, twitching and writhing and shooting warm cum onto my stomach. Teeth gritted, I slam a fist down on top of the armrest and shut my eyes to feel the host of emotions in my veins. Embarrassment. Lust. Shock.

The room’s silent save for my thrumming pulse.

Catching my breath, I jolt at the sensation of skin on mine. Eira’s soft hands skim my bare thighs, then knead the tender muscles, slowly spreading my knees wide. Her bottom lip drags over skin I’m not sure anyone’s ever touched before, making it quiver.

“Baby, you’re fucking stunning and I—” The explanation floats away in a Viking funeral when the wet, warmth of her tongue greedily laps up the cum running down my shaft. Suddenly I’m engulfed in flames, hips bucking upward. “ Fuuuck. ”

She murmurs my name at the same time the tip of my cock slides between her rose-hued lips. She pulls me in deep, creating suction over the tip that vetoes any need for a refractory period.

“The only thing better than the way it feels when my cock’s in your mouth is the way it looks.” I push upward until her throat tightens around me with a gag. “That’s my pretty girl.”

She pulls away, saliva threaded between her lips and the tip of my cock, with glassy eyes and mascara smudged on her creamy skin. After a quick swirl of her tongue around the reddened crown, she sinks her warm mouth back down, bottoming out with a moan.

“I need your pussy around my cock, baby. Right fucking now.” I grunt, teeth sinking into the flesh on the back of my hand.

Hollowing her cheeks, Eira pulls a moan from deep in my chest. The quick release of suction snaps something inside me, and I grab a rough hold of her to walk us to bed. She falls backward, hair splayed across the mussed up comforter, and I sling her legs over my shoulders to drive into her pussy in one brutish thrust.

“Oh my God,” she cries out, fingers desperately seeking purchase on the bed—needing something to keep her from floating out of her body the way I clung helplessly to the armchair.

Entirely feral, and taking everything like this is the last time, I fuck her so hard I’m sure she’ll be sore tomorrow. And that knowledge only encourages me to go harder. I want the feel of my cock branded into the walls of her cunt, something that will remind her of me every time she touches herself after she goes home.

My balls sting with every slap against her ass. Maybe I want that permanent reminder for myself, too. Not that I’m at risk of forgetting her.

“It’s so deep.” Her nails bite into my forearms.

“You’re going to take every last fucking inch,” I growl. “This pussy’s mine. Don’t fucking forget that.”

Her eyes widen, nostrils flaring.

“ Mine , Eira.”

I’m fucking losing it.

Whether it’s the post-nut clarity or the way I’m already on the verge of coming again mere minutes later. Or maybe I’m losing my mind because it’s Christmas Eve, and I’m balls deep inside a woman I didn’t expect to care so much about.

My brain knows this comes to an end in a couple days; my heart refuses to not to be in it for the long haul. And I can’t fucking stand that.